


True

by sasha_b



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Comment Fic, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-01
Updated: 2013-08-01
Packaged: 2017-12-22 03:21:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/908291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sasha_b/pseuds/sasha_b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Curse?  What curse?</p>
            </blockquote>





	True

**Author's Note:**

> Set between Surprise and Innocence, season two.

The storm wakes her.

It's quiet in Angel's apartment. Granted, it's sort of underground-y, so yeah, that would make sense. But it's really quiet because she can't hear him breathing, or his non-existant heartbeat. She rolls her lips together, trying not to move, not wanting to wake him.

His arm over her back is heavy. And weird, and she squeezes her muscles together, just a bit, and she realizes she's _sore_ ; no one warned her about that. But really, when she thinks about it (it's kind of gross, but still) she's okay with that kind of sore.

Buffy Summers knows what it's like to fight to the almost death; she knows what it's like to ache for days even though super powers and all that mess. She doesn't know what it's like to wake up with her (first, ever) lover and feel the aftermath - and she can't help the weird smile that splits her face and forces her to hug said person a bit tighter to her. Her heartbeat - strong enough for the both of them - is solid and thumps against his cool chest and side and his eyebrow (the left one, the one she thinks is cute) cocks even though his eyes are shut.

"It's still raining," he says.

"I know," she answers. She raises a trembling hand (from his closeness, and his smell and his biceps - had she noticed how amazing they were before?) and runs her slightly jagged nails (fighting with her hands is hell on her manicure) over his stomach, watching the muscles jump. It's amazing. He's amazing. It's amazing she's here. The rain pounds and the apartment is dark and quiet and smells of iron and weapons and men's deodorant and oddly enough, coffee, and Angel turns over, keeping her in his arms, and opens his brilliant eyes.

"We need to stay here until it stops."

"Uh huh."

She knows that bad things are coming, are coming hard and fast - Spike and Drusilla only small parts of that - but she finds for once in her life, as short as it's been so far, she wants to do something for _her_. She wants a birthday that's not awful and full of pain and she wants to lie here with her boyfriend (her lover; that old fashioned word making her giggle slightly) and hold him and maybe make herself sore again. The kind of sore she'd welcome, and she raises her head and sets her chin on his chest, staring at him.

"Did you meant it?" The clock on the wall nearest them - a Kit Kat clock, so unlike Angel she'd boggled at it and then made fun of him for days the first time she'd seen it - ticks and jumps in the silence.

"I don't want to go out in the rain, no."

"No. What you said, before." She drops her eyes; she can't help it, he's staring at her and she feels completely _something_ she can't name. "Last night. Or really this morning, cause you know how it late it was, and Angel, we really do need to figure out - "

He kisses her.

She'd like to say she didn't melt into him, because that's for stupid romance books and she's so beyond reading those, thank you very much. But she _does_ and his arms bind her to him, and they've just cemented their relationship in the way she's been thinking about since the second she saw him (and him in his leather coat, truth be told. It's so hot) and she smiles against his mouth. She's frightened of what will come next - and really, he was supposed to leave, but he didn't, and now she has this and she'll be damned if she'll let it go.

"Buffy."

He says her name like it's the most - it's chocolate ice cream and java chip frappuchinos and reading late at night under the covers and makeovers and shopping and the smell of roses just opened and she shudders and his hands wrap around the small of her back.

"I do love you."

The ring she wears, the one he's just given her, pinches her fourth finger as she forms her left hand into a fist. It's as though she can't control her body anymore around him. She doesn't want to.

"Angel," is all she can manage, and they take each other away again, darkness and evil waiting to knock on the door the minute she lets it.

It can wait a while.


End file.
